


Guarding the Ruins of Silent Castles

by KelpieLurks



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Codependency, Cuddling & Snuggling, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt Gabriel (Good Omens), Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:20:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28591674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelpieLurks/pseuds/KelpieLurks
Summary: Crowley has spent months locked up in the bookshop, powerless and forced to watch Aziraphale take his sadistic urges out on the now permanent resident Gabriel. He's done his best to protect the archangel, but it's never been enough.Now they're out, they're safe. But Crowley isn't done protecting Gabriel, and even the healing ward in heaven offers a whole series of challenges for a traumatised demon and an even more traumatized archangel.At least they have eachother.AU for Descent into Perdition by the lovely dreamsofspike
Relationships: Crowley & Gabriel (Good Omens), Crowley/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 60
Collections: Descent Into Perdition and DiP-verse Works





	Guarding the Ruins of Silent Castles

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Descent Into Perdition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23887096) by [dreamsofspike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike). 



> With great thanks to THISisGREAT, cunzy4 and Lyrabean for beta-ing this for me, and to the Repossessed discord server for driving me to this  
> And of course, to dreamsofspike and the whole team for writing DiP and inspiring this bullshit
> 
> And also no thanks to AO3 tagging for being awful on mobile.

Crowley's fingers drummed an anxious rhythm into the desk. 1-2-3-4, 3-3, 1-2-3-4, 3-3, 1-2-3-4, 3-3...over and over. Michael glared down at his hand and back up at him. He ignored her, speeding up a little. Outside, he could sense the observers of this little "interview" shifting nervously.

  


Crowley had long since grown impatient. He knew that Heaven wanted answers. Couldn’t blame them either. The things that had happened, that Crowley had been involved in...if the roles were swapped he'd probably have her slammed up against a wall right now, in cuffs, probably in some small dank cell somewhere...did heaven have small dank cells? He didn't know. But instead of locking him up and throwing away the key, they were actually letting him stay in the healing ward, with Gabriel. Though that was far more for Gabriel's benefit than his own.

  


Still, that didn't mean he was content. Every minute he was here, having these questions thrown in his face, these questions he wasn't ready to answer, not even to himself, was a minute he was away from Gabriel. The archangel needed him, he needed to be there in case Gabriel got scared, as he did so often these days. None of the angels knew how to deal with it, they only managed to scare him more. His heart clenched and he drummed his fingers faster, staring at Michael across the table.

  


Eventually Michael snapped. 

  


"Would you stop that?"

  


He stilled his fingers. 

  


"So what now? You gonna keep me here all day?"

  


She grimaced. 

  


"If I have to."

  


That wouldn't work for him. His archangel needed him, probably needed him right now. He clenched and unclenched his fists, rolling his wrists to shift the bandages around them into a more comfortable position. Michael glanced down at the bandages and back up. 

  


"No, you won't" 

  


"And what makes you so sure about that?" 

  


There was no edge to Michael's voice. It was a genuine question, delivered coldly and by an archangel with vengeance in mind, but genuine. Crowley scraped his nails across one of the bandages. There were no wounds below them, not yet. The bandages were there to try and keep it that way.

  


"You can't," he told her simply, "your brother needs me"

  


She sat back in her chair. "We have it handled."

  


He scoffed. "No you don't, I'd've thought that was well established by now."

  


"He can handle a few hours."

  


"On his own, maybe," Crowley said, digging his nails into the bandage, "but you lot are all such bloody busybodies and you don't know what you're fucking doing."

  


He hadn't meant it to sound so scornful, but it did. Michel's eyes hardened.

  


"Parmen and Lailah are with him, he'll be fine"

  


Crowley frowned. Lailah was even more of a busybody than most angels. She'd been one of Gabriel's subordinates and apparently knew him better than most. She was actually rather sweet and Crowley might have liked her, were it not for the everpresent angelic stick up her arse and her inability to just step back and not get involved when she wasn't wanted or needed. Parmen was... actually alright. Probably because he wasn't any sort of angel. The deceased human psychiatrist had specialises in cases of severe trauma and had spent much of his life helping the victims of human trafficking. He'd kept up his studies after his death, remaining far more up to date than most dead souls. But he wasn't Crowley and he didn't know Gabriel like Crowley did.

  


"I need to get back there," he insisted, gripping the tabletop with his one hand and scratching at the bandage with the other, "I need to...he needs me. I have to be there."

  


"They have it under control"

  


"No they  _ DON'T!!!" _

  


He slammed his hands down on the desk, startling the observers in the other room. Michael didn't react in the slightest, just looked at him evenly as though he hadn't said anything.

  


"They don't have anything under control, damnit!" He raged on, "they don't have...they don't know... _ they weren't there. _ "

  


"I'm sure that they-"

  


Crowley wasn't finished, "No they nothing! None of you know anything. You keep trying things and doing things but all you're doing is fucking scaring him more and you don't even bloody know it!"

  


This time, Michael stayed quiet, watching him intently. Crowley shoved himself out of his chair and began to pace, scratching at the bandage.

  


"None of you get it. You're all so used to Heaven, every bloody thing stamped and sealed and signed in triplicate, every order bloody written down. Everything here is clear, ordered, fucking communicated. 

  


"We'll he can't, alright? He can't bloody communicate with any of you. He's too fucking scared shitless to even try. And all of you keep trying, over and over to make him speak and smile and let you touch him, you're so bloody fixated on getting him back, the good ol' Archangel Fucking Gabriel, that you can't see that he's fucking gone. You hear that? I'm talking to you dipshits in the other room too here, especially you, Sandalphon. Yes, I know that was you yesterday, him refusing to let go of my shirt for two hours, that was your fault."

  


The discomfort radiating through the one way mirror was palpable.

  


"You're all trying to treat him like the old Gabriel is still in there somewhere and if you just keep treating him like he's still that person then he'll just pop out, fucking demanding a weekly report and fixing his tie and everything will be all fucking tickety boo again but it won't. He won't. He's gone and he's not coming back. Gabriel is never going to be the same and no amount of enthusiastic greetings or smiles or someone-forbid fucking backslaps,  _ I'm looking at you, Sandalphon,  _ is going to change that. But none of you can accept that, none of you treat him like the person he is now, not who he was before. You keep demanding something he can't give and that scares the blessed heaven out of him, because that gets him hurt. But none of you get that! You weren't there and you don't listen, not to me and not to him. You just keep on like you think you should and you don't fucking see what you're fucking doing to him! That's why I need to be there, right now, with him. Me, not Lailah, not Parmen, not any of you. The only one who gets it in this blessed place is me, because I  _ was _ there. And yes I know what you're going to say, Michael, and you're fucking right and I'm going to spend the rest of fucking eternity trying to make up for it and I don't think I ever will but one thing I can do is help him, and you're all so caught up in your fucking saviour complexes and this idea that angels are good and demons are bad that you won't even-"

  


"That's not true" Michael interrupted his tirade.

  


"What?"

  


"That's not true, that thing about us thinking angels are automatically good and demons are automatically bad. It's not true."

  


"Could've fooled me"

  


Michael sighed. 

  


"I'll admit that there are...prejudices perhaps, that need to be worked through, but if Armageddon didn't teach us, then this whole mess certainly has."

  


"A mess huh?" Crowley barked out a laugh, "is that what you call this?"

  


She grimaced again, her eyes sad.

  


"What else would you have me call it? Sit down, Crowley."

  


He sat, reluctantly. He didn't answer. Gabriel needed him. Gabriel needed him and he was stuck in this stupid room with stupid Michael and the stupid peanut gallery in the othe room

  


"Everything you've said is true," she said softly.

  


"So let me go to him"

  


…

  


"Please"

  


Michael pursed her lips and locked him in her gaze. For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then she nodded, just once.

  


"Thank you"

  


The door opened. Uriel stepped to the side, looking severe. Crowley marched past them, not looking back to see Michael get up and follow him or into the other room to see Sandalphon standing sheepishly, and set off towards the healing ward at a brisk pace.

  


Angels in the hallways parted before him. Had he been alone, they would have set upon him in a heartbeat, but now, with three archangels striding a few steps behind, they let him go by with nothing more than whispers and glaces. He paid them no mind either, totally focused on reaching his destination, his archangel. Gabriel needed him and he'd been away far too long.

  


The healing ward was largely empty, just rows and rows of bare beds that had been prepared for the battle of Armageddon and never filled. Crowley strode past all those, then through another door into a narrower corridor, a series of small private rooms that hadn't existed before that week and had been created solely for this purpose.

  


Gabriel's room was the second on the left and Crowley headed straight for it. Or would have, if not for the large observation window beside.

  


Gabriel was seated on a small comfortable chair next to a white writing desk. But he wasn't comfortable or writing, or even alone. Lailah crouched in front of him, staring up into his face with a look of sickeningly deep compassion and concern. Her hand rested over his, her fingers loosely encircling his bony wrist. Parmen was nowhere to be seen.

  


Gabriel was rigid in his chair. His hands on the armrests were white knuckled. His eyes were fixed on Lailah, wide, wet, empty. His face was blank, and wet with tears that were leaking down his cheeks. Lailah reached up a hand to wipe it away and his eyes snapped to it, but he didn't pull away. He was trembling, from fear or the effort of keeping still, or both. 

  


Crowley threw himself at the door, ripping it open with such ferocity that Lailah actually whirled around, planting herself between it and Gabriel and Gabriel jerked so sharply that his chair wobbled dangerously.

  


Crowley pushed past the angel without a second glance. She started to resist but something, perhaps a look from the contingent of archangels behind him, stopped her in her tracks and let herself be shuttled off to the side. 

  


Immediately, Crowley was crouched at Gabriel's side. The terrified archangel made an aborted grab at his shirt and then just crumbled, sliding out of his chair onto his knees. Wordlessly, Crowley took his still raised hand and, carefully avoiding touching the deep scarring on the wrist, placed it on his own chest. Gabriel's hand clenched, fingers clutching desperately at the fabric. Crowley shuffled in closer, pressing against Gabriel's side and gently taking hold of the back of his head and pressing it down, lightly, to rest on his shoulder. Gabriel took the permission and immediately burrowed his nose in the crook of Crowley's neck.

  


"There you go, archangel, there, you're okay" Crowley whispered, feeling the eyes of the others on his back but not caring one iota. 

  


So what if he'd told them not to touch, and now he had Gabriel nestled in under his chin? They weren't him, they weren't there. The difference was Gabriel, who Gabriel trusted, whether he should have trusted them or not.

  


Hot, shaking breaths puffed against his collarbone and Crowley began to gently rub his fingers through the soft hair at the base of the archangel's hairline. He'd told them all explicitly never to touch Gabriel's hair. But he could, because Gabriel wasn't scared of him touching his hair. That was the difference.

  


"Come on then, Gabe," he whispered into his archangel's ear, "let's get up off the floor huh?"

  


Gabriel just pressed closer, his angular frame trying to conform to Crowley's as through he could just disappear into his demon's chest. 

  


"Please? My knees are starting to hurt." Crowley implored, completely disregarding the fact that his knees weren't touching the ground and were far more flexible than those of a mortal .

  


Gabriel nodded into his neck, but made no move to peel himself away. Crowley sighed and wrapped his arms more securely around him, guiding them both to their feet and over to the soft bed. He miracled the blankets out the way and carefully eased them both down onto the mattress, then miracled the blankets back over them, covering Gabriel's head nearly entirely, leaving just enough open that he would still find fresh, cool air and so wouldn't feel smothered. Gabriel huddled in close, burrowing deeper into Crowley's neck and quaking.

  


Stupid angels. Stupid Lailah. Parmen had just arrived at the door and peered, alarmed at what had happened in his absence. Stupid Parmen. Stupid fucking Michael. If that useless interrogation hadn't happened, hell, if it had been a bit fucking shorter, this would never have happened. Gabriel wouldn't be in an absolute state, hiding under the covers against Crowley's chest like a small child.

  


He hadn't been there and look what fucking happened. None of them knew how to deal with the archangel, none of them understood him anymore, this new language of glances and tension and posture was completely foreign to them. And because Crowley hadn't been here to translate, no-one had even recognised that Gabriel had been in the middle of a spectacular panic attack.

  


A small part of his brain tried to remind him that no, this wasn't their fault. Gabriel's ability to communicate was crippled. Aziraphale had made sure of that. Any expression, anything that could have been even vaguely misconstrued as disobedience, or resistance, or even disapproval had been punished brutally. Speech even more so. Gabriel was locked inside himself and only because Crowley had been present for the locking did he hold a key. 

  


But that little sensible bit of his brain was vastly overpowered. He'd  _ told _ them not to touch Gabriel's wrists. Even he didn't dare. Just the slightest brush could set him on edge, if not push him over it. Encircling them... Crowley pushed the thought away before it could cause his rage to rise into physical expression, knowing that Gabriel would feel the tension and increased heart rate and think that anger was directed at him.

  


Gabriel had been in a panic and Lailah hadn't noticed. Maybe Parmen would have if he had been there, but he hadn't. So Lailah had just kept it up, for who knows how long, encroaching on Gabriel's space, touching him, talking to him, had she tried to make him answer back? Touched his hair? Fuck, had she-

  


Gabriel tensed against Crowley's chest. Crowley let out a long sigh and tried to release the tension with it. He resumed stroking Gabe's hair under the covers. They were thick and heavy but also miraculously easy to move around under, meaning Gabriel felt enclosed and protected but could easily get out if he ever felt trapped. Crowley had to admit, they comforted him too, being so difficult from Aziraphale's forceful, clinging embrace.

  


In the doorway, Parmen and the angels still clustered awkwardly. Crowley shot them a glare that he made absolutely sure never translated below his nose. Tucked in where he was, Gabriel would feel any clench in Crowley's jaw or grit of his teeth.

  


He didn't know how long he lay there, cuddled up with his archangel under heavy covers but eventually, eventually he felt the tremors start to die down and the grip on his shirt relax. A little while longer and the still rapid breaths began to slow and even out. The onlookers had been gone for nearly an hour when Gabriel eventually slipped into an exhausted sleep. Crowley sighed with relief, finally ceasing his slow caress of Gabriel's hair and letting his hand rest on his neck. He kept high, well above Gabriel's jutting shoulder blades,to ensure that he never inadvertently gave the wordless command and cause Gabriel to summon his ruined, painful wings onto the material plane.

  


They'd have to deal with the wings eventually, but for now, there were more pressing things.

  


Like Gabriel's panic attack, and the angel who had caused it.

  


He couldn't leave the bed, not with Gabriel now loosely curled on top of him, his nose still buried in Crowley's neck, face hidden and slow, finally easy puffs of breath warming his clavicles. Even now, it was so rare that Gabriel felt safe or exhausted enough to let himself sleep and Crowley wouldn't risk waking him and disturbing valuable rest by trying to slide out from under him.

  


Crowley closed his eyes and cast his consciousness out into the private rooms. The others were in a small round breakroom, added purely for Parmen's benefit. He and Lailah were seated at the table, nursing cups of tea while the archangels milled around. Noone said anything as a projected image of Crowley's corporation appeared in the room with them. 

  


"Well," he started, fixing each of them with a look before settling on Lailah and Parmen, "would anyone like to explain to me what the everblessed fuck that was?"

  


They just looked at him. Parmen cleared his throat awkwardly.

  


"Well?"

  


Lailah glanced down at her tea, worrying at her lower lip.

  


"I don't know," she said finally, "something... something happened. I think I did something wrong and he started to cry and I was trying to comfort him when you charged in. I'm sorry, I'm not sure what I did."

  


She shifted uncomfortably under his glare until he turned it on Parmen.

  


"And you? What's your excuse?"

  


"I was in a phone call to a colleague," the psychiatrist said, "she was a speech therapist when she was alive. I thought she might be able to help."

  


Crowley's projection huffed.

  


"And so you just left him alone with her? For how bloody long?"

  


"The call went on longer than I anticipated. She had a lot to say. I think she'll be very useful to bring in. But I should have been there, should have told Drew I'd call her back. I'm sorry."

  


The projection pinched the bridge of his nose. What a monumental fucking cockup.

  


"Okay, you," he turned back to Lailah, "tell me exactly what happened, what you did. What set him off in the first place?"

  


Lailah frowned. 

  


"I was...he was sitting on his bed, just sitting, like he always does. And I was at the desk, doing paperwork. Parmen had just stepped out for a minute to take the call and then I noticed that Gabriel was...looking. He kept glancing across at my paperwork and then up at me and then away, and then going through that again, round and round. I figured...I thought he wanted to see what I was doing because he was...is my boss and it's been a while, you know?"

  


"Get to the point."

  


She might have been indignant, had she not spent millennia as one of Gabriel's underlings. Instead she just bit her lip harder and nodded.

  


"I tried to help him over to the desk. I suppose, thinking about it now, maybe I should have just taken the papers over to him or waited for Parmen to get back. But I just thought it would be good for him to move around and I know he's been moving around with you and it was just from the bed to the desk. That's what, two metres?"

  


"I'm sorry you tried to make him move? You can't...what, are we just manhandling the archangel that's terrified of being touched now?"

  


"No!" This time she  _ was _ indignant, "I asked him if he wanted to see, and if he wanted to move. He said yes...well, he nodded a tiny bit. So I figured it was okay."

  


Gabriel had nodded, and not just in frantic response to an order, or to tell them what he thought they wanted to hear. Gabriel had expressed an opinion, a want. In the bed, Crowley forced his heart not to swell, for fear that it would disturb the sleeping archangel. In the breakroom, his projection kept glaring.

  


"So then what?"

  


"He was up pretty easily and we'd just gotten to the chair when, I don't know what happened, one of his knees gave out or something but suddenly he was halfway to the floor and I grabbed him and helped him into the chair. But by the time he was sitting, his eyes had gone all wide and just had that blank look and he started shaking, more than usual that is. I wasn't sure what was happening but it didn't seem too dramatic so I just tried to comfort him. I was hoping that Parmen would come back quick and he could help me but, well, you arrived first."

  


Crowley mulled over her words. What could have...wait.

  


"You grabbed him. Where?"

  


After a moment, "It was his shoulder, I think, and around his back."

  


Well, that would fucking do it.

  


"What the fuck have I told you about touching his back?"

  


Lailah's mouth formed a little 'o' shape.

  


"And then, once you'd sent him into a fucking panic attack, you then proceeded to have the brilliant idea to grab his wrist?"

  


"What no I...wait, panic attack? He wasn't-"

  


"Yes he was," Crowley scowled, "he was scared out of his mind. He just couldn't express it. That's what I keep telling you stupid lot, he can't express anything. He can't tell you when he wants something or when he's scared or you're overwhelming him. You just have to know it."

  


"Crowley," Parmen cut in, keeping his voice soft and measured (It sounded like how Aziraphale would speak when he was trying to enforce the idea of his own rationality. Crowley hated it.), "He was shaking and tense and teary, yes, but he's all of those things a lot of the time. If he was having an episode, if these panics look just like his baseline, then how do we identify them?"

  


"They're not 'just like his baseline', at all," Crowley snapped, "just use your blessed eyes. And if that doesn't work, then you have me. Stop dragging me away to pointless interrogations," he glared at Michael, "and let me stay with him. I know what to look for. I-"

  


Gabriel's eyelashes fluttered against his neck.

  


"He... he's waking up. I have to go," Crowley said, "we're not even slightly done here so don't go anywhere. And don't come to the room until I say so."

  


The projection vanished and Crowley opened his eyes in the room. Gabriel wasn't quite awake yet. His breaths were still fairly even.

  


Until they weren't.

  


His breath hitched and raced, and Gabriel's hands clenched on his shirt with the initial panic and disorientation of wakefulness. Crowley returned his hand to his hair, gently scraping blunt fingernails over his scalp. 

  


"Hey there, easy archangel, easy there love," he murmured, taking care to keep his voice and movements slow and even, "It's just me, I got you. You're good, you're all good."

  


It took a few minutes for his trembling to slow and his rapid inhalations to even out. Crowley just lay there, letting him get his bearings at his own pace. Eventually, Crowley felt him relax and snuggle in deeper. This was good. It hadn't taken nearly as long as normal for the archangel to understand where he was and calm down.

Then his breath hitched again, and again and Crowley felt the wet patch that had dried against his neck start up again. Immediately he increased the pressure of his fingers on Gabriel's scalp and wrapped his other arm firmly around Gabriel's lower back. 

  


"Hey hey, come now it's okay"

  


Comfort and security, that was what Gabriel needed when he cried. He needed to feel safe while crying, that tears and other forms of emotional expression were safe and okay to release and that he would be encouraged and even rewarded for releasing them.

  


Gabriel gasped shakily a few times before seeming to bring himself down, but his hands twisted in Crowley's shirt. Crowley kept petting him, would continue as long as needed. 

  


"I hate this."

  


Even if they hadn't been muffled by the blanket, the words were so soft that Crowley felt rather than heard then, the movement of lips against his skin and the halting brush of air across his clothed chest. Only supernatural self control kept him from freezing at their utterance, determination not to scare Gabriel into silence overriding the swell of joy in his chest. He lay perfectly still, his only movements the fingers in Gabriel's hair and the slow rise and fall of his chest, unnecessary but useful for Gabriel who found it both soothing and helpful to match his own with when panic overtook him and he struggled to regulate. The archangel's trembling increased.

  


"I know you do," He whispered, deciding that drawing attention to the words would only scare Gabriel back into silence but knowing that ignoring them could be just as devastating, "I know, but it'll get better. It's already getting better, hey? You're getting better."

  


Gabriel was silent for a long time after that, and Crowley would have started to think he had imagined it if not for the way Gabriel quaked against him. 

  


Then, "'m n-not though, n-not en-enough."

  


"Hey now, love, where's this coming from? You're doing great."

  


Gabriel sniffled, ever so softly. There was now a significant damp patch growing around the collar of Crowley's shirt. He could practically feel Gabriel trying to build up the courage to reply.

  


"Not-not like what th-they want."

  


Crowley very nearly ground his teeth as Gabriel stumbled over the words

  


"What do they want, archangel?"

  


"Th-they want me to g-go back to how-how I was and-and-and I just...I can't. That's not...that's not me, I'm-I'm not...I can't be that."

Crowley felt his chest constrict.

  


"You don't have to be anything. It's okay. I promise."

  


"But-but they want me b-back. I h-have a job and-and they want me to...but I can't. I'm-I'm not the M-Messenger anymore, never going to be. I'm useless."

  


Satan, Gabriel's first blessed words in months and these were what came out? Still, putting these feelings into words meant that he felt safe enough with Crowley to express himself and at the very least, he wasn't bottling it up to stew. Crowley was grateful for that at least. Still, he was infuriated that the other angels' desperate desire to see Gabriel return to his old self had translated across. Gabriel did not handle the prospect of failing expectations well since he'd spent so long knowing that doing so could result in anything from a sharp reprimand to unspeakable brutality.

  


"You're not useless at all, archangel, and you don't need to do anything for them. I know they're idiots and they don't understand anything, but what they actually want is for you to be happy," he whispered, pretending not to notice how the figure under the blanket was making silent little hiccuping motions, "they know you were happy before, so they want you to go back to being like that."

  


"I can't." 

  


"You don't have to."

  


"But I don't-"Gabriel whispered wetly, "I don't want to be like this. I'm-I'm not supposed to be like this."

  


Crowley's heart broke.

  


"You won't, I promise. You'll get better. You already are. You don't have to march around heaven like you used to. Wherever you end up is enough, but you are getting better."

  


"I'm not. I-I can't even...not even…" he trailed off

  


"Yeah, maybe not. But last week you couldn't get off your knees. This week you can walk and now look at you, talking like a pro. It doesn't do you any good to look at what you can't do. That's always a sad lot. Rather look at how you've improved since last week, and the week before, and as we go on and can look further and further back, you'll see a bigger and bigger change, archangel. I promise you that."

  


Gabriel's nerve must have failed him then, because he didn't reply, just huddled as close to Crowley as he could, hidden under his blankets, and silently cried. Crowley kept up his gentle stroking and let Gabriel tangle their legs together.

  


"Your family loves you, yeah? They just need to get it through their thick heads how things are now, because however you end up, that's okay. You're okay. It's all okay, so long as we keep going. Yes,  _ we. _ I'm not going anywhere, archangel. You've got me. And I've got you. We're going to be okay yeah? We'll find a new way to be and that'll be okay. It'll all be okay"

  


He kept rambling on, at some point his cogent point became a meaningless string of assurances. Gabriel cried for a little longer, until he cried himself out and slipped back into exhausted sleep.

  


Crowley trailed off. Gabriel was still against him, breathing softly and slowly. He seemed solidly out, would probably be so for a few hours. Crowley would be stuck here for a while then, unwilling to move and risk disturbing him.

  


His hand stilled in the short hair and Crowley craned his neck down to press a kiss against his head through the blanket, as he could never do when Gabriel was awake. 

  


"Yeah, sleep tight there archangel. It's all alright" he murmured.

  


He could project back into the break room, provided the others were still there, but right now he didn't want to. He was tired as well and lying there, wrapped up warmly with the weight of his archangel against his chest, all he wanted to do was follow him into sleep.

  


It took him a while to drift off. He was far too used to playing sentry, letting the archangel get just a little rest and giving him enough warning to be as awake and alert as Aziraphale expected when the angel arrived. But they weren't in the backroom anymore, and Aziraphale wasn't coming. Crowley knew that. So did Gabriel. But it would take a while to sink in.

  


So he lay there for a long time, feeling the steady weight of Gabriel's bony body against his and the gentle thump-thump of his heart. They were alive. It was over. Somehow they'd both survived. It was going to be okay.

  


And so, with that thought in his mind, Crowley finally managed to drift off to sleep.

  
  



End file.
